so as long as tumblr keeps this, here's the tumblr version of etiquette that was maintained when twitter's quote-retweets affected artist visibility/notes:
for art that someone has added reblog commentary to (or removed the caption from), reblog from the source
otherwise, avoid adding reblog comments to art (as this will affect the artist's notes/visibility)—utilize tags and replies to provide commentary (which artists will absolutely appreciate)
reblog comments are comments added to the body of a post, not the tags and not replies.
everyone in the notes we are all holding hands. everyone who hasnt worked on a wip in weeks or months or years, its okay. we are going slow but we are going
Summary: In the aftermath of Jonathan attacking you after accidentally dosing himself with his own toxin, there's nothing left to do but pick up the pieces and attempt to move past it.
(tw for: voyeruism, masturbation, teasing, exhibitionism, threats of physical and sexual violence, dream sequences)
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Given the questionable location, the fact that Crane’s shower boasted a decent water pressure was nothing short of miraculous. His bathroom may have needed a deep cleansing scrub to remove some of the more neglected areas, including one top corner in which you swore you could see mould peeking out from behind the fraying wallpaper, but it was clean enough for you to feel comfortable using it without too much worry. A fact you were at peace with as you press your face up into the heated stream while a sigh of pleasure makes your chest rise and fall in place.
You had left Crane asleep on the couch, his exhaustion apparent, as you extracted yourself from under his dead weight. After the events of the night, the urge to clean and take yourself for a quick shower was intense; just something to wash away some of the stress which sat heavily on your shoulders and in your injured pinkie finger as the digit continued to throb while it started its healing journey.
The marks on your neck stung for only a moment as you wash them using the water, the ghostly remnants of his fingers still clawing into the flesh as you wipe at the area gently with a clean cloth. At least you had seen some remorse over the injury, his shame at having left such uncontrolled and undignified marks giving you something positive to latch onto. It would almost be funny, given the depth of the pains which some of your more frantic sexual escapades had left etched into your skin, but the comedy of it all wasn’t quite ready to land.
Every droplet of water splashing off your skin feels wonderful and you take a moment to stretch under the stream. The tension in your back grows almost unbearable as you raise your arms overhead but it alleviates in an instant as a soft ‘pop’ emits from the base of your spine. Exhaling, you bring the washcloth to your chest as you begin to work your way down your body, leaving no inch unscrubbed in an effort to clean yourself as deeply as possible.
Jumping in place when the bathroom door opens, your anxieties are immediately extinguished as the tall frame of Crane quickly fills the space as he enters and quietly closes the door behind him. He looks better than he did before his sleep, much of the exhaustion having mellowed out into something rested and ready to face the approaching day.
Caught off guard by his presence, more so by how shockingly intimate it felt to have him casually enter the bathroom while it was in such obvious use, you follow his movements with wide eyes as he strides over to the toilet and moves to unzip his fly.
“Umm, hello?”
The sound of his piss hitting the toilet actually makes your mouth fall open a little, an almost childish indignation flaring in your chest as he turns to fix you with a questioning look. You don’t miss the way his eyes seem to be finding it difficult to look at anything above your chest, his gaze following the soft droplets of water as they roll down your chest before disappearing into the soft pubic hair which sits atop your sex.
"You'll find it hard to piss if it starts pointing up again."
His brow quirks in amusement at that, the open vulgarity and cheek clearly pleasing him on some level as he holds his cock in one hand, the other shifting towards your standing position as he leans slightly away from the toilet.
Without warning, he pulls the remains of the shower curtain back as he removes what little chance of modesty still existed between you. Not that it bothers you, if anything, you are quite pleased that he seems to feel much better after his sleep – a fact which does lift some of the heaviness in your chest as you sense that he has no desire to revisit the events of his little mistake.
“Ass.” You spit the insult at him with no venom, “Do I not get privacy anymore? Or do you like what you see so much that you can’t help it?” You ask with faux heat, narrowing your eyes playfully.
“Privacy.” Crane scoffs, shaking off his cock as he slips it back within his pants and flushes the toilet. “After the things you have allowed me to do you…” He trails off, quickly washing his hands before leaning on the closed bathroom door as he openly makes himself comfortable in the space and showcases his refusal to be cowed in any way.
“Well then, are you coming in to join me?” You ask, knowing that the simple intimacy of such a thing would never allow him to answer yes.
“Of course not, I much prefer the view from here. My participation feels unnecessary.”
“This view?” You run a hand down your stomach, allowing your fingers to ghost along your pubic hair as you tease your fingers towards your aching sex – the temptation to tease him too intense to ignore. “Are you sure I couldn’t think of some way to lead you in here? Surely the big bad Scarecrow needs to wash occasionally…”
“You will not tempt me into joining you.”
“It could be nice,” you refuse to give up with a sigh, “and I don’t mind helping you to scrub all those hard-to-reach places which need a good rub.”
“Vixen.” Crane accuses but you can see the growing tent at his groin, “Do you think that will sway me?”
“No,” you agree hotly, “but then I don’t mind if you want to watch me. You can see what you’re missing out on.”
Crane’s breath hitches as you slip your hand between your legs fully, your fingers quickly finding your clit as they rub soft circles around the aching nub – arousal quickly building as a voyeuristic shame only adds to the fire being stoked by your digits.
Something almost shy enters his expression and it makes you pause.
“Do you want to watch me?” The question comes easily and without any expectation.
“Yes.” Crane answers, clearing his throat as he pushes his glasses high atop his nose, “I think I would like that.”
Again left to mourn his genuine lack of dirty talk at times, you push back the thought as you focus on pleasing yourself in the ways you know how. You allow fantasy to lead you, imagining Crane’s long fingers replacing your own as their cooler sensation dances along your heated skin. The warmth of his body seeping into yours as he pins you to the shower wall, leaving no room for escape as the shower darkens his hair and pushes it flat to his head while he ravages you.
Your breath huffs excitedly as you build up a rhythm; your fingers stroking and pinching and dipping within your hole as you tease along all those wonderful spots which make you see stars. Crane watches you with genuine interest, his eyes never faltering as they patiently flick between your expression and your hands, and you can feel him filing away little snippets of information as though you were a butterfly pinned to a board before him.
His attention is heady and it pushes you to a quick finish, your directed focus on your own clit adding to the rapid release which chases you. Your fingers flex against the cool tile of the shower wall as you stroke two fingers across your aching nub, orgasm inevitable as you meet eyes as heated as your own.
“Jonathan.” You whine his name as you come, your fingers so slick that they struggle to keep to any kind of rhythm as they slip across your sex messily. It wasn’t anything mind-blowing but the release of tension, of the days’ stress, was welcomed and you don’t push it too hard as you pull your fingers away as soon as the high begins to ebb.
You can feel the restraint which rolls from his tensed shoulders and the heat which sits high in his cheeks, his refusal to break and showcase any kind of weakness to your teasing as you call out his name. It’s a refusal which amuses you as much as it ignites a slight embarrassment, a shame that you had allowed yourself – once again – to be so vulnerable in front of him in exchange for so little.
“I’m going to nap before I leave,” you announce, recovering quickly from your quick release and turning back to the shower as you hide your complicated feelings by allow the water to wash over your chest and soiled hand. “I need some energy before the drive home but I don’t want to sleep later in the day because then I’ll be exhausted going back to work tomorrow.”
“Do as you please.” His voice still rough with arousal, Crane opens his palm in invitation as he finally walks back through the bathroom door, leaving you to finish your shower with the company of your own thoughts and your own thoughts alone.
x-x-x-x-x
Trapped by a monster, the fear which is heaving your chest and making your limbs feel leaden is familiar in a painful way as you fight the losing battle with everything you have. The hand wrapped around your throat squeezes so tightly that you can’t help the pathetic squeak which slips free of your lips as you kick out with flailing legs.
Ignoring the pain of your shoes glancing off his shins as his face shines with sadistic delight, Roman Sionis holds you steady.
“I told you that you would be mine eventually.” Roman pauses only long enough to slam your head against the wall you are pinned to until stars explode in your vision, “And now that you’re mine I think I’ll have to change my plans up a little.”
“Let me go.” You choke out, desperate eyes darting across the vast expanse of darkness which sits behind Roman’s frame – his thick body blocking out most of your vision anyway as he chokes you with an almost inhumane strength, “Let me- fucking monster, let me go!”
“Why the fuck would I do that?” Roman coos as he mocks your struggle, “I paid good money for you, and I’m gonna make sure I get every cent beck before you’re a used up and useless scrap of fuckmeat.”
Fear battling rage, you pull enough strength to meet his eyes, “Don’t touch me you fucking asshole. Fuck you, Sionis.”
“Touch you? Oh, babygirl, I’m going to do things to you that will make you beg for me to just touch you. You’re going to be popular and I’ll offer you at bargain prices to make sure you’re never left alone too long.” One gloved hand drops from your throat to cup your cunt roughly through your jeans, “Fuck, after I’ve had my fill I’ll even loan you out to the kennels and then, when you’re really fucked up, maybe one of the more nasty fuckers on the books will fork out a couple of grand to hang what’s left of you for one of their darkweb films.”
Your hands doing no damage to his chest as you continue to pound against his shirt, you abandon the attempted assault and instead dig your nails into the fabric just above his belt – hoping to tear the skin there where there could be a gap. Instead of skin, your hand loops around to touch something hard and metallic and you grab at it without much thought.
Even through your terror, there’s no mistaking what’s in your hand and you pull it free with a panicked flourish. Quickly pointing his beretta pistol as his own head, relief floods your system as quickly as adrenaline trembles your limbs while Roman regards his gun with open anger.
“Drop that you stupid cunt.” He snarls, eyes twisted in rage as he takes a step back and reaches for the pistol, “You even think about shooting me with my own gun and I’ll fuck you with i-”
BANG.
Something wet and warm flecks across your face and you barely register the look of pained rage on Roman’s face before your eyes glance down to take in the spatter of blood and viscera which coats your chest and arms in a shocking pattern.
Glancing down at the gun in your hands in disbelief, it’s only when the sickening thud of Roman’s falling body collides with the floor that you open your mouth and allow yourself to finally scream.
x-x-x-x-x
Standing over the couch as he observes her napping, Crane watches with growing interest as his witty girl grows more and more animated in her subconscious distress.
He recognises the nightmare. From the microexpressions which showcase her anxiety to the way in which her delicate fingers clench and unclench with each unknown action, whatever plagues her dream is something unpleasant indeed.
Dressed in only one of his older shirts and her underwear, her post-shower hair was still damp when she had curled up on his couch and decided to go for her well-earned nap. Content to allow her some peace, he had quietly retired to his workstation to create a record of the previous nights’ events in one of the yellowed journals which held his notes and private thoughts.
Recalling his experience, he wrote professionally and without any passion as he recalled the physical response which his body experienced as the toxin took hold, the shift in his perception and the loss of control after being restrained. Pausing as he reached the moment where his witty girl intervened, Crane found himself hesitant as he reflected on her intervention.
Despite his warnings, she had sought to comfort him and in response – although unintentional – he had once again hurt her. His guilt wasn’t absolute, a frustration at her inability to listen to his simple instructions whispering that she should hold a little responsibility for her own injuries, but her determination to intervene did leave him with a fresh feeling of debt which would need to be paid at some point.
Eventually though, her whimpers had drawn his attention from his work and he had walked over to the couch to find her experiencing her current nightmare.
She was beautiful in her vulnerability and he finds himself enjoying observing her, filing every little movement away for future consideration when he has more time to enjoy it properly.
She had masturbated for him, allowed him an insight into her personal pleasure in a way that no one else ever had. It was intimate in a way he had not expected and his arousal at watching her hands slide between her legs had been laced with a feeling which he could not pin down.
Unable to help himself, Crane slides his hand within her shirt and his cool fingers come to a rest atop her left tit as she continues to breath raggedly. The soft warmth of her skin seeping into his own, he can’t help but squeeze her breast gently – enjoying how easily she fits within his hand and the rapid beat of her heart as it thrums against his palm.
That heartbeat.
So simple to manipulate and force into action.
A vague thought passes through his mind, one which sees his witty girl hooked up to a heart rate monitor. It would be something light, portable, and easy to keep out of the way as he ensured she remained perfectly restrained and subject to his experiments.
His focus.
His touch.
He could practically see it, how rapidly the monitor would jump and increase its rhythm as he pleasured her and scratched that masochistic itch which guided her foolish choices. His cock throbs within its confines as he imagines which actions would spark the greatest reaction. A harsh suck of her peaked nipple? The crack of his belt across her rapidly-welting flesh? A feathery brush of his thumb across her engorged clit? The pinch of a needle as he broke her perfect skin and delivered her a fresh dose of his latest toxin?
So responsive is his witty girl that he isn’t even certain and that uncertainty has his breath coming short as he continues to feel her heart beat against his palm.
“Fuck you, Sionis.”
Crane flinches in place as she speaks, the unexpected words making his hand recoil in surprise.
Heat buzzes low in his chest, the emotion sitting somewhere between possessive jealousy and anger as he watches his witty girl struggle to control her breathing after her outburst.
Sionis is still affecting her, his actions with Sionis are still affecting her, and that truth is difficult to swallow. It was a truth that quickly put a slight stop in him from taking any real pleasure in her panic, rather, it quickly extinguishes the growing arousal which her frantic and anxious state naturally sparks within him.
Flinching as his witty girl shoots up from her nightmare with a stunted cry, Crane quickly schools his features into something unreadable as she fights to control her breathing, her hands coming up to clutch at her own chest in a childish pursuit of comfort.
"I shot him. I shot hi- god the blood was everywhere." The back of her hand flies to cover her mouth, her lips pressing into the skin roughly as she muffles her own words.
“Shot who, little mouse?” Crane asks, already knowing the answer.
“Roman Sionis. He-he was choking me and I got his gun and, oh fuck, I shot him. I killed him.”
“A subconscious wish fulfilment, perhaps?”
“I-I…I don’t know.” She finishes lamely, her breathing settling as she falls into conversation with him. Her hair is wild in its damp state and Crane glances between it and the exposed skin of her chest as she matches his assessment with her own. Her eyes quickly drop to his groin, the residual hardness there making her expression quirk into something unreadable as she sits up straighter on the couch. She takes in his arousal with shifting emotions; surprise, and then understanding as her eyes slowly tilt up to meet his own.
“Were you watching my nightmare?”
“Yes.”
“And you liked it.” It was almost posed as a question but one which had an answer so obvious that it deserved little intrigue.
“You ignite certain responses within me, witty girl. Let’s not pretend they’re all savoury.”
“What is it?” She asks but quickly follows herself up as she realises how broad her query is, “What is it than makes you like it so much? The fear, I mean? I get it when we’re, well, when we’re having sex but something like this? Why does my fear make you so-”
She breaks off, unable to fully put her question into a cohesive line of questioning but he is no fool and he understands her ask. The crux of his entire person. He hesitates, her question one which exposes him to more vulnerability than she could ever comprehend, but his pause is quickly swept under the rug as he redirects her attention fluidly.
“That’s not a question you want the answer to, witty girl.” He offers her a quirk of his lips, just enough to settle her and inspire a genuine smile in response. “Let’s put it to bed for now and concentrate on something of greater value. I think a meal will set us both to rights since we have not eaten properly since before the events of last night.”
“Food.” She considers the suggestion with painfully innocent eyes, the concept of something solid and nourishing completely overshadowing the emotional minefield she had been unintentionally ready to wade through, “Yeah. I could go something. Should I have it delivered to the warehouse and I’ll collect from the main entrance when it’s ready?”
“Sounds good.” Crane agrees readily, happy to allow the moment of unfamiliar domesticity if it kept the conversation flowing to less dangerous territory, “You choose the meal and I will prepare some drinks.”
Feeling the need to escape from the moment, Crane turns on his heel and makes his way over to the makeshift kitchen which sits in one of the corners of his basement hideout. The tiredness which pulls at his bones is familiar and exhausting, one which has been afflicting him since he had awoken restrained to his own dentist chair. However, it is lighter than he would have expected and he chalks it up to his witty girl and her impressive ability to distract him from his own failings.
Again, he muses on just how she had surprised him by allowing him to watch her pleasure herself. Such a private and base thing, something she no doubt had never shared with another person, and yet she had chosen to share that with him. Her willingness to show that vulnerability, knowing not only what he was capable of but also what he had already done was thrilling.
It was much to think about but such considerations were much easily undertaken when the sweet scent of her perfume was not as present to cloud his thoughts.
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